


Different

by GordandV



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Adopt All the Children, Dragons, Found Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-27 04:27:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21386089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GordandV/pseuds/GordandV
Summary: The child drops the glove and then makes grabby hands at Nightwing who has no idea what to do except to offer his bare hand again.“I’d really like to know your name,” Nightwing tries. “My friends are going to be here soon, and I’d like to introduce y-”Bare fingers touch his skin. Nightwing blacks out immediately.
Kudos: 258





	Different

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for Gord, whose prompt was simply "dragons." This was never meant to see the light of day, but Gord threatened to post it one way or another, so V did a serious edit, and here's the results.
> 
> Written solely for fun. Hopefully someone gets a smile out of it.

“Robin and I are fifteen minutes out from your location.”

“I think I can handle a little jewelry store robbery on my own,” Nightwing says as he lands on the sidewalk outside said jewelry store whose silent alarm had gone off some five odd minutes ago. For such a small establishment, there’s millions worth of jewels inside. Definitely a good place to try for some easy cash. “Hm, that’s strange…” Nightwing frowns and toes at the glass on the cement from one of the busted windows that faces the street.

“Report,” Batman demands.

Nightwing pulls both escrima sticks and then leaps through the broken window onto a display case housing nothing but emeralds. The entire store is dark and quiet. The only light comes from the illuminated exit signs and whatever moonlight can force its way through the cloud cover. “Most of the glass is on the sidewalk, like someone was trying to break _out_ of store instead of in.”

“I bet that took you an entire thirty seconds to figure out,” Robin says, and Nightwing can hear his smug smirk through the coms.

“I’m going to check things out.”

“Be careful,” Batman warns.

“Always am, B. Nightwing out.”

Nightwing traverses the glass until he runs out of case. A single short jumps brings him onto another counter. The entire U-shaped section contains diamonds of every size and shape. Nightwing sheaths one weapon in order to pull out a flashlight. He scans the immediate area and, oddly enough, finds more than a few cases broken into, but as far as he can tell, nothing’s been moved. Like whoever was trying to rob the place got interrupted.

There’s a half-open door in the back of the jewelry store that Nightwing knows is for inspections and repairs. A workroom of sorts. No doubt where extra merchandise is stored and house until needed.

“This is really, really weird,” Nightwing says with a little sigh as he kneels down and carefully checks the pulses of five separate individuals wearing ski masks, gloves, and who have velvet bags attached to their belts. They’re all unconscious and slumped against one another like they’ve been tossed. “It’s like they started to rob the place and someone got to them first.” Nightwing pulls the mask off one person and frowns. “I know this guy.” He tugs another ski mask off. “And her.” All the disguises wind up in a pile. Nightwing stands up and puts one hand on his hip once he’s secured the robbers with zip ties in case they wake up. He spins his escrima stick with the other hand to give himself something to do. “I recognize all of them. They were all part of a robbery group who got busted and arrested by Gotham PD. They were all released and put on parole six months ago.”

“I guess parole didn’t agree with them” Batman says dryly.

“Apparently not,” Nightwing says thoughtfully. “This is all their MO though; all their usual getup and target pieces. But that doesn’t explain what got to them fir-“ Nightwing whips around. “Hang on. I heard something.”

Nightwing reenters the store, flashlight in one hand, weapon in the other.

“Hey!” he shouts. Something darts between two cases, and Nightwing lands on top of the glass in order to loom over whoever’s on the other side. “Hey,” he offers in a much softer voice seconds later as he stows his stick on his back and shifts his flashlight so that it’s not shining in the child’s eyes. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

The child doesn’t move. Nightwing gets onto the floor and crouches, careful to keep himself low and not corner the poor thing who’s shaking from head to toe, face a mess of tears and snot. It’s too dark to see much more, but the wet sheen on the child’s face glistens in the weak light.

“I won’t hurt you,” Nightwing says again before offering his hand, palm up and fingers lax. “Did you wander in here?”

The child grabs his hand immediately and frowns before holding it up and staring at the lines of blue on the back of Nightwing’s hand in obvious confusion.

“It’s just a glove,” Nightwing says. “See?” He pulls his hand back and goes for the hidden zipper before pulling the entire piece off so that he’s bare from the elbow down. He holds the material out, and the child takes it curiously. “Just skintight. I’m still human underneath all this.”

The child cocks his head, sending his shaggy black bangs to hang sideways across his forehead. Two very blue eyes stare back at Nightwing, lips pursed.

“What’s your name?” Nightwing tries with a smile. “People call me Nightwing.”

The child just stares back, opens his mouth like he wants to say something, and then closes it. He sighs and goes back to looking at the glove.

“Do you know what happened here?” Nightwing asks. “I found all those robbers in the backroom. Did you do that?”

Nightwing blinks a few times behind his domino when the child looks up and makes a few noises that sort of sounds like a bird cooing. It’s unexpected, if not a tad unsettling.

“Can you talk?” Nightwing asks gently. “It’s fine if you can’t, I’ll find another way to help you.”

The child drops the glove and then makes grabby hands at Nightwing who has no idea what to do except to offer his bare hand again.

“I’d really like to know your name,” Nightwing tries. “My friends are going to be here soon, and I’d like to introduce y-”

Bare fingers touch his skin. Nightwing blacks out immediately.

Nightwing wakes up with a start and is off the cot and halfway out of the med bay with his arms raised before he even realizes what’s going on.

“Are you brain damaged?” Robin asks from where he’s leaned against a cabinet filled with medical supplies, clearly unhappy about keeping watch on Nightwing. “Lower your arms, you ingrate.”

Nightwing does, wonders where the instinct came from, and then leans his hip against the nearest sturdy surface which happens to be a crash cart. He braces both hands one the cold metal and takes a few deep breaths. He smells ozone.

“Did I have a seizure?” Nightwing asks thickly.

“Not to my knowledge,” Robin replies. “Why?”

“Smells funny. And my mouth tastes gross.”

“Tt. The last time you brushed your teeth is your own business.”

Nightwing takes a few minutes to center himself. The smell of ozone fades, as does the burnt, brimstone-y taste clinging to his tongue. “What the hell happened?”

“Batman and I hoped you could tell us.” Robin clicks his tongue again. “We found you totally defenseless in the jewelry store with your little… friend.”

“Friend?” Nightwing repeats in confusion.

Robin motions with his hand, and Nightwing follows him into the Cave and towards the computer. Batman is seated, but there’s a pile of lumpy blankets beside him on the floor.

“I’ve decided to call him Titus Jr.,” Robin says while Nightwing finds the same child from the jewelry store curled up in the blankets, apparently fast asleep with his head on an off-white pillow, thumb tucked firmly in his mouth and curled up in the fetal position. He’s wearing a blue sweatshirt with the hood bunched up by his neck. Black pants and sturdy black sneakers with blue accents poke out from beneath the blanket; everything looks whole and hale; the child’s clearly been taken care of recently. His face is still a bit of a mess, covered in dried mucus and tear tracks. His eyes are swollen and a bit red, there’s some dirt on his face, but it’s nothing a warm washcloth can’t fix.

“We’re not calling him that,” Nightwing snaps before bending over, intent on pulling the thumb from the boy’s mouth because he’s definitely way too old to be doing that-

“I wouldn’t,” Batman warns without looking up from the screen.

Nightwing touches the boy’s hand and is immediately rewarded with a growl that rivals that of Damian on his bad days. It’s downright vicious, a full-body rumble that offers a single clear warning: stop.

“Why on earth is he _here_?” Nightwing asks as he switches his grip to adjust the blankets to make sure the boy is properly tucked in to ward off the chill of the cave.

“You don’t find it suspicious that you go to investigate a robbery and find the thieves already apprehended, no one present except a young boy, and that you pass out without explanation, also with no one around except said young boy?” Batman asks.

“No need to rub it in, B” Nightwing grumbles. “So now what?”

Robin sits himself on console. “We’ve already start running his prints and searching for missing persons reports that might match him. He had nothing of use on his person to tell us who he is.”

“And let me guess, no security cameras?” Nightwing asks while he gets up to stand behind Batman and look at the screen.

“Everything shorted out twenty minutes earlier,” Batman explains. “There was some type of microburst that cut off power or caused a surge to the surrounding five blocks.”

“Microburst?” Nightwing repeats. “I didn’t see anything.”

“It was contained,” Robin says as he leans over and taps a key. “There and gone in seconds. Suspicious for this time of year.” Robin turns his head a bit to look at the child who’s still fast asleep. “Possibly related to him?”

“We can’t rule anything out.” Batman turns in the chair and Nightwing steps aside. “He’ll stay with us. For now.”

Robin jumps off the console and crosses his arms. “Another repeat.”

“Hm?” Nightwing asks.

“Black hair, blue eyes,” Robin explains with a sniff. “He does look quite a bit like you.”

Nightwing considers the child who’s still gently sucking on his thumb and dreaming. “I guess so.”

“This is going to end badly,” Robin mutters. “Red Hood has no business being near children.”

No one comments, but the boy does briefly look up at Robin and offers a tentative smile. Robin bares his teeth; the boy returns the gesture and narrows his eyes.

“Stop that,” Nightwing chastises. “Both of you. Come color with me, little one.”

Nightwing, spread out on the cave floor, belly down, sorts through crayons. It’s more than entertaining watching the vigilante, in full gear nonetheless, grab a red crayon and put wax to cheap coloring book paper before pushing the box a bit closer to the child similarly spread out beside him. The boy grabs a slate grey crayon and starts drawling swirls.

“Cyclones are cool,” Nightwing says. “That’d be a cool nickname,” he add brightly. “What do you think? How’d you like to be called Cyclone?”

The boy just smiles up at Nightwing and grabs a yellow crayon in order to start coloring the background. The tip of his tongue pokes out of his mouth in apparent concentration, and he turns the coloring book sideways. Nightwing looks up when Batman moves from his seat to stand over the pair.

“Strange,” Batman says quietly.

“What?” Nightwing asks.

“You used to do the same exact thing. Turn the book sideways.”

“It’s much easier to keep the lines going the same way with the page turned at that angle,” Robin points out. “I would do the same thing if I were attempting… art.”

Nightwing just rolls his eyes and shifts sideways so that he’s just touching the boy. “Well, what do you think? You like Cyclone for a nickname until we find out your real one?”

The boy just hums a bit and then looks up at a low drone which quickly grows louder. He startles and all but shoves himself under Nightwing’s arm as a motorcycle races into the cave. The engine roars, and Nightwing doesn’t miss Cyclone hissing and baring his teeth as he flattens himself against the floor and tries to hide under the vigilante. The motorcycle shuts off, by Cyclone doesn’t relax.

“My babysitting rate is 1k an hour,” Red Hood announces as he heads for the platform the group has gathered on. “Plus transportation fees.” He stops and looks down. “This the new orphan?”

Cyclone’s still cowering under Nightwing, clutching onto one arm for dear life.

“We’re still running his prints and missing person reports,” Batman says before raising a hand to his head and miming knocking.

“Oh, right.” Red Hood pulls his helmet off, tucks it beneath his arm, and then kneels down on the floor with a smile. “Hey there,” he greets softly. “Not so scary now that the helmet’s off, right?”

“We’re calling him Cyclone,” Nightwing offers before pushing himself up on his free arm. “Hood’s not so scary. See, he’s a person underneath all that Kevlar. Just like me.”

Cyclone eyes Red Hood warily and then slowly crawls out from beneath Nightwing. He keeps one hand on Nightwing’s arm but does extend the other one when Red Hood offers a handshake. Cyclone cocks his head when his hand meets glove.

“Nice to meet you,” Red Hood says formally, and he shoots a dirty look at Robin when he clicks his tongue. “Don’t mind Demon Spawn, he’s still learning how to function like a human being.”

Cyclone smiles. Red Hood frowns.

“You know, you look an awfully lot like-”

“Already established,” Nightwing interrupts. “You’re sure you’re up to watching him?”

Red Hood sits back on his feet. “Sure. I can do coloring books and juice and nap time and all that jazz.” One hand strays to his side and dozen stitches there that’s keep him from active duty; he can certainly handle one kid, but Alfred’s upstairs in case the big guns need to be called in.

“Right, because you’re a child,” Robin snips.

“Just wait until you get old,” Red Hood replies as he stretches himself out on the floor with care. “You’re going to look forward to juice and nap time.”

“You mean alcohol and sedatives?” Robin asks while Red Hood grabs a second coloring book and points a crayon at Robin.

“Exactly.” Red Hood turns his attention to Cyclone. “What do you think I should color, big man?”

“Go on,” Nightwing whispers. “He’s a friend.”

Cyclone slowly crawls over to Red Hood, presses themselves together lengthwise, and then tucks Red Hood’s coat around himself and snuggles close with what sounds suspiciously like a purr.

“We’ll be back in an hour,” Batman says. “Call us if anything happens. Anything. Agent A is upstairs for emergencies.”

Red Hood and Cyclone are already involved in a sea lion picture. Red Hood raises his hand for a thumbs up. “Got it. Have fun, kids.”

“I should have stayed at the Cave,” Nightwing huffs as he swings himself around a pole in order to plant himself feet-first against a thug and send him crashing against one of the support pillars of the metal scaffolding he, Batman, and Robin are currently brawling on. “Cyclone and I could have just sat and colored while you two went out. For all we know, those missing persons reports could be churning out something right now.”

“Priorities!” Robin shouts as he scales a precariously perched length of wooden beam for leverage, leaps off, and clocks someone in the head with the heel of his boot before reaching up to grab at a slab of metal and swinging himself up and over. Wind tugs at his cape, and lightning flashes in the distance.

“I’m just saying,” Nightwing says with a sigh before grabbing an escrima stick, flipping a switch to send one end sparking, and planting the head of the stick against a support beam to electrocute the next batch of thugs heading his way who have, unfortunately for them, put their bare hands on the scaffolding for support.

“Focus!” Batman shouts while Nightwing shoots a few grappling lines to catch the villains just as all their coms go off.

“He fucking _gone_,” Red Hood seethes. “I turned around for literally two seconds to get us juice boxes, and then he was gone!”

“He can’t have gone far,” Batman says calmly as he jams his fist into someone’s face. “The Cave is meant to keep everything outside from getting in, and the reverse.”

“Want to bet? One of your fucking alerts went off that an unauthorized plane went down the Batplane’s tunnel. Guess what, the damn plane is still there!”

“That’s ridiculous,” Robin snaps. “The sensors wouldn’t go off for anything smaller than a puddle jumper.”

“I know!” Red Hood roars.

“There’s a tracker on Cyclone,” Nightwing says while he backflips down a beam. “Just follow that.”

“Listen to me, morons!” Red Hood yells. “You don’t think I went to track the brat? He’s been gone five whole minutes, and he’s already a minute from your location!”

“How?” Nightwing asks as he flips himself off the edge of the scaffolding, intent on falling a few stories to catch the trailing goons, and runs headfirst into a pole swung in his direction.

“Idiot,” Robin hisses as he goes to launch himself off his beam so that he can get at least one line around one of Nightwing’s ankles, but lightning so bright blinds everyone on the scaffolding, and Robin is forced stop and hold an arm up to shield his eyes.

A sudden roar shakes the entire scaffolding, and more than a few people, Robin and Batman included, either scream or go totally silent in shock. Metal groans when wind buffets it, and Batman drops down beside Robin, grabs him around the waist to keep him from flying off, and attaches a line to a support pillar.

A massive dragon flies up the side of the scaffolding, Nightwing draped over the base of its neck. It’s jet black from head to tail with interruptions of electric blue. Sparks dance between two curved horns, and the dragon reaches out to the scaffolding with both hooked thumbs on its wings in order to land. The entire structure begins to groan, and then things start to buckle when the dragon’s hind legs make contact. The beast roars again, and Batman cuts the line he and Robin are one in order to jump off; the air smells like ozone, and every single hair is standing on edge. He does his best to wrap himself and Robin in his insulated cape as the dragon’s jaws clamp down onto the nearest stretch of metal and sends electricity racing through the scaffolding.

Batman fires a line and whips his cape back. He and Robin land on a building just across from the crackling scaffolding. The dragon releases the metal and then turns its head, single blue eye focused on the pair.

“I believe we found Cyclone,” Robin notes while the dragon kicks both feet off the construction project and then releases his thumbs.

Cyclone falls for a few seconds before one powerful sweep sends himself airborne. He hovers in front of Batman and Robin and then mewls and looks at Nightwing.

“He needs medical attention,” Robin notes. “Do you know the way back to the Cave?”

Cyclone shakes his head.

“I can guide you back if you’ll allow me. I’ve ridden a dragon bat before.”

Cyclone nods and stretches his neck out. Robin settles himself just in front of the dragon’s wings, hauls Nightwing onto his lap, and then clamps his legs down to keep himself in place.

“You’re too big,” Robin tells Batman. “Not with Nightwing already on him. We’ll meet you back at the Cave.”

“What did you do?” Red Hood yells when a black and blue dragon soars into the Cave, can’t find a wide enough place to land, and instead latches onto the cave wall like a bat. “I’m talking to you, Spawn! I’ve seen Goliath before, and that is not him!”

Cyclone shuffles across the wall until he’s close enough to a platform for Robin to slip off. He lands and then lifts both arms to help Nightwing down who’s only semiconscious, unsteady on his feet, and demanding ice for his head.

“Good boy,” Nightwing praises once he’s got an icepack in hand and is seated so that he can’t tip over.

Cyclone merely chirps and eyes a stretch a floor space beside Nightwing.

“No,” Robin snaps. “No. Stay! Bad wyvern!”

“He looks just like you, Nightwing” Red Hood says in wonder. “If you were a… what did you call him, Robin?”

“A wyvern. He only has the two legs.”

The dragon’s mask is a V of electric blue that covers him like a domino. There’s rings of blue around each ankle, and the underside of his wings are the same hue. Both horns spark intermittently.

“The color and electricity is too similar to Nightwing to be coincidence,” Robin notes while Cyclone wiggles his tail and then leaps; he shrinks on the way to the floor and slides across it inelegantly before scrambling to Nightwing’s side. He’s a little boy again dressed in the same blue sweatshirt and black pants. He curls up beside Nightwing, plants his chin on the vigilante’s thigh like an attentive dog and then yawns.

“You look kind of tired,” Nightwing says while Cyclone starts to blink again and again until it’s clear he’s going to doze off. “Want to take a nap?”

A chirp, and Cyclone flips onto his opposite side. Nightwing stares at the long black tail protruding from Cyclone’s lower back that wraps itself about the boy’s ankle.

“Look, Robin here is enough of animal,” Red Hood says. “I don’t think Batman can afford to have another one around.”

“Hey!”

Robin makes the mistake of touching Cyclone during breakfast when he’s only half-dressed. His gauntlets are stored, and his gloves are folded on the floor. The spread in the Batcave is simple given that no one can quite tell if the child is a source of potential unmasking, which means upstairs and real names are still off-limits. Cyclone’s going bite-for-bite as Nightwing spoons cereal into his mouth, but Nightwing stops to get a sip of juice. He reaches out for his glass, and Cyclone does the same just as Damian goes for a bowl of fruit. Their hands collide, and Damian doesn’t even have time to cluck his tongue; his eyes simply roll back in his head and he slumps in his food. Batman sits him up before he can drown in his pancakes, and Red Hood is on his feet, pointing a finger at Cyclone.

“What did you do?” he demands.

Cyclone goes under the table, and Nightwing goes after him, albeit much slower and cautiously.

“Hey, it’s okay, you didn’t- wasn’t your sweatshirt blue a second ago?”

Now it’s blood red, and Cyclone turns around. Nightwing bangs his head on the table, swears, and then slowly crawls out.

“What the- what the shit?” Red Hood asks once Cyclone is out from beneath the table.

Cyclone’s still a child, still Cyclone, but his eyes are green. His hair is still black, but the long bangs are gelled back and the sides are shaved close to his head. His complexion is darker, and while everything still screams Cyclone-

“It’s the brat,” Red Hood says with a frown. “Explain now, dragon boy.”

Cyclone makes a dash for the nearest edge of the platform and jumps off before anyone can stop him. Robin comes to suddenly and lays eyes on a blood red dragon. Two wings, four legs, all capped with yellow, razor-sharp talons and spines from head-to-tail. The underside of the dragon’s wings are emerald green, as is the stretch of scales across Cyclone’s eyes. Green reaches up the dragon’s legs, and Cyclone remains in midair with a whine. His horns are barely curved, and Robin instantly recognizes their shape; they’re nothing more than obscenely sized katanas.

“Damn,” Red Hood says simply before offering his hand. “Do me next!”

Batman approaches the edge of the platform with Robin beside himself. Robin reaches his bare hand out and touches Cyclone who exhales gently.

“You change shape when you make skin contact.” Robin glances over at Nightwing who remains sitting on the floor, at a total loss. “You’re… trying to blend in.”

Cyclone chirps, turns back into a child, and then heads right back to his seat and goes after the bowl of fruit.

Once Cyclone is suitably engrossed in finger-painting with non-toxic watercolors, Batman, Robin, Nightwing, and Red Hood huddle around the computer.

“He’s a wild animal,” Robin says. “We can’t keep him.”

“He’s a baby,” Nightwing protests. “We can’t just… put him out on the streets.”

“Seemed to be doing fine by himself when you found him,” Red Hood mutters. “Took out those robbers without a problem.”

“We still don’t know why he’s in Gotham,” Batman protests. “I agree with Nightwing; he’s too young to be left alone.”

There’s something gangly about his dragon form that screams “not full-grown.”

“Maybe he’s lost?” Robin suggests.

Batman pulls up the weather reports for the night Cyclone first showed up. “There were a number of microbursts and a severe storm out over the water. It’s not impossible that Cyclone got lost. Or perhaps separated.”

“Alright, how the hell are we going find his parents then?” Red Hood demands as he glances at the boy who’s happily smearing paint around the paper with his index fingers. “We don’t know if this shapeshifting thing is something he’ll grow out of or if his parents are walking around in their Sunday best. It’s not like we can put up posters. Found: one dragon who turns into a younger version of you once he makes skin contact. Please call Batman for more information.”

Cyclone offers an excited trill when he starts slapping handprints down onto the paper.

“We’ll keep him here with us for now,” Batman says. “We’ll have to figure out a way to take him out more with us. Hopefully his parents are looking for him.”

Cyclone gets paint on his nose and apparently inhales a bit of it; he turns to the side, sneezes, and the group watches electricity sizzle on the floor for a few seconds. Cyclone takes no notice; Red Hood grimaces.

“This is going to be _great_.”

Red Hood continues to flick his lighter in desperation. “I need a light!” he shouts while he looks around in hopes that Batman will come flying out of nowhere and drop a pack of matches into the accelerant. “Now!”

Burning drugs isn’t exactly environmentally friendly, but considering how much poison is laced into the powder, setting the whole shipment on fire is actually the lesser of two evils. That, and the poison apparently nullifies all the toxic fumes that the drug usually releases. Science, you gotta love it. Except that Red Hood’s lighter is apparently empty, and he needs fire or a spark, like yesterday.

Red Hood startles when something slams down in front of him; it’s Cyclone in his Robin getup. It’s proven impossible to keep the dragon inside when anyone tries to go on patrol. And while no one wants to bring a child (no matter how powerful or armored) out, it’s not like they have a choice; Cyclone is apparently immune to most sedatives, and not even a finger wagging in his direction from Alfred can keep him from following the group. It’s become clear, however, that Alfred’s disapproval is one of the strongest things Cyclone reacts to; he’ll do anything to please the man, up to and including eating broccoli and not biting people.

“Hey, go grope Nightwing,” Red Hood says. “I need a spark.”

Cyclone just mewls and cocks his head. He chirps and then noses Red Hood’s chest with enough force to send the man stumbling back a step or two. Cyclone pulls back and blinks slowly. Red Hood rolls one sleeve back and then holds his bare forearm out.

“I’m gonna get guns, right?” he asks. “Gun dragon?”

Red Hood blacks out and comes to on something hard and warm with the smell of smoke in his nose. He pushes himself up and realizes that he’s on Cyclone’s back. The dragon has no wings to speak up, his two front legs are small and stubby, but he’s all muscle beneath the scarlet scales. Red Hood’s done his research; Cyclone’s a lindwurm, basically nothing but a snake with two itty bitty front legs, but Cyclone rears his head back and inhales deeply.

“Fuck! Yes!”

There’s a spray of fire that would make even the most fire-happy arsonist squirm. Red Hood’s more than impressed, but then Cyclone starts to move forward, legs tucked up against his front and only lowering to help change direction. The fire is hot, but Cyclone keeps Red Hood just shy of roasting as he continues breathing fire.

“Impressive,” Robin notes as he strokes the black mask of the dragon and ignores the tiny stretch of white scales on creature’s temple.

Red Robin keeps a safe distance from Cyclone as he and Batman talk.

“He looks like their love child, all three of them,” Red Robin notes with a hint of disgust.

Cyclone’s currently sitting with Dick’s smile, Jason’s eyes, and Damian’s hair in the middle of the Cave, long black tail protruding from beneath his blue sweatshirt and lower back. He’s got the scaly appending wrapped up in his arms like it’s nothing more than a stuffed animal, and the tip of it, sans any spikes, or so Tim can only assume, is stuck in his mouth. Cyclone’s sucking on it gently like a pacifier, and Damian’s already suggested that maybe it’s something normal dragons do until they’re grow out of the habit, just like human babies. Cyclone’s focused on watching a three-way spar between Dick, Jason, and Damian with rapt attention.

“We think it’s camouflage,” Batman notes. “Some type of defense mechanism to allow him to blend in.”

He and Red Robin are the only ones who are in uniform. Cyclone gasps, lets his tail fall from his mouth, and claps when Damian gets himself up in the air above Dick and Jason and clocks their heads together. Both teal eyes turn emerald, and his tail goes from black to red.

“Any leads on how to get him home?” Red Robin asks while Cyclone continues to clap in delight at the carefully controlled violence.

“Since Cyclone can’t tell us anything, we’re thinking of… letting him loose,” Batman says slowly. “There’s more than a few legends about dragons hoarding gold and gems, and Cyclone was found in a jewelry store. Damian thinks he might have been looking for spots his parents might be and instead took out the robbers.”

Cyclone waits for the fight to finish before walking himself over to Batman and Red Robin and holding his arms up. Batman frowns but then relents and picks him up. Cyclone’s tail winds around the man’s leg for support.

“Dick’s been enabling him,” Batman notes dryly while Cyclone makes himself comfortable against the armor and Kevlar covered neck and shoulder before stuffing his thumb in his mouth and sighing. He leans his cheek against Batman’s shoulder and starts to nod off.

“Cute,” Red Robin says with a smirk before something flutters to the floor.

It’s a single red scale, and Cyclone huffs around his thumb, squirms to make himself more comfortable in Batman’s hold, and then plops his head back against the armor. It only takes a few slow blinks before both green eyes are firmly closed.

“Is he… okay?” Red Robin asks with concern. “Everyone said he was pretty lively. Always into something even if it was just watching.”

“He has been quiet lately,” Dick notes while he mops his face with a towel before accepting an icepack for his head.

Damian, water bottle in hand, steps close and visually inspects Cyclone’s tail. “His scales are rather lackluster.” He bends over to pick up the single scale and frowns. “This is rather brittle.”

“Maybe he’s sick,” Jason suggests. “Kids and animals both get sick, right? Why should dragons be any different?”

“He could be homesick,” Dick adds. “He’s been here a few weeks. He probably misses his parents.”

Tim doesn’t point out the fact that no one even knows for _sure_ that Cyclone has been separated from his parents. That he even has parents.

“Let’s see if we can take his temperature,” Batman says. “Keep a record and see if it changes in the coming days.”

Cyclone’s temperature continues to go down. Dick tries more sunshine; he and Cyclone spend more time up on Wayne Manor grounds than beneath it, but the fresh air only perks him up for a few hours at a time. The dragon is definitely more lethargic; he doesn’t show the same interest in playing or even simply watching everything around himself. Cyclone snaps at Jason’s hand when he tries to get him up from his nest of blankets one morning when it’s past ten and Cyclone’s been asleep for over twelve hours; his eyes flash teal and sparks jump from his mouth. Jason wisely backs away and doesn’t try again.

“Here,” Tim offers. He holds his bare hand out to Cyclone who just blinks up at him and sniffs. “You get something out of touching new people, right? Maybe this will make you feel better.”

The pair are in the back of Wayne Manor, safe from prying eyes beneath a thick canopy of trees. Tim sits himself down because he knows he’s going to pass out if Cyclone does touch him. Cyclone snuffles toward and then holds his hand out warily; he’s definitely not acting himself, and even Tim who’s spent the least amount of time around him can notice a difference. Their palms touch, and Cyclone intertwines their fingers as best he can given their size difference. Tim inhales sharply because he can _feel_ the moment they connect, and then he wakes up to a child who looks vaguely like him in a dark green sweatshirt.

“Hey,” Tim greets. “You going to show me what I look like as a dragon?”

Cyclone chirps, and Tim goes speechless; he’s no bigger than anyone else’s dragon, but he’s all muscle, black, red, and gold, with a thin, long tail that Tim already knows is going to be able to be whipped around like a bo staff. He’s a drake; four legs and no wings.

“Hey, hey!”

Cyclone wobbles on his legs, lays down, and then starts to shrink; now he looks like the love child of Dick, Jason, Damian, _and_ Tim all mixed into one.

“Cyclone, hey! Hey!”

Tim picks him up. Cyclone just nuzzles against his neck, makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a groan, and then closes his eyes. Tim’s not exactly great with kids; it’s not like spends all that much time with them, but he’s already shushing Cyclone and gently bouncing him and telling him everything will be alright.

“You’re going to be fine,” Tim says as he beelines for the manor. “We’ll figure out what’s wrong with you and make it better.”

“He’s getting worse.” Damian looks through detailed spreadsheets and then frowns and crosses his arms across his chest and turns away from the laptop to look at the guest bed.

Cyclone’s curled up in the middle of it with what Damian suspects a child’s paradise would be; the comforters are dotted with toys, games, and priceless jewelry. Cyclone’s got an old emerald necklace that Damian thinks Bruce might have given his next girlfriend clutched in his hand and a string of pearls beneath his cheek. He’s asleep, resting as comfortably as he can according to Alfred who had, by some miracle, managed to give Cyclone a full dose of children’s liquid aspirin without getting burned, electrocuted, or bitten.

Dick’s a moping statue by one of the large windows; he’s got one finger by his mouth as he worries his lip, clearly lost in thought. Jason’s sitting with his feet on the bed, sharing a tablet with Tim who’s leaning over the side of a wingback chair. Bruce sits on the opposite side of the bed, silent and troubled as he looks down at Cyclone.

“Any ideas?” Damian prompts.

“One,” Bruce says. “But it’s not nice.”

“Not nice?” Jason repeats in confusion.

“It would require scaring Cyclone.”

“This is embarrassing,” Red Hood mutters. “Why the hell would you only put two seats in the Batplane?”

He and Robin and Red Robin are crunched in the rear seat; Nightwing has contorted himself to fit in the front one without impeding Batman. Cyclone is wrapped up in his arms, lethargic and cold and too weak to even put his thumb in his mouth.

“Shut up,” Robin hisses. “Play the recording.”

It’s heart wrenching to hear Cyclone’s panicked cries, but if there was a chance his parents could hear it, it was a risk everyone was willing to take. Of course, startling the dragon and scaring him had not been fun.

After a few minutes of playing the recording, Red Hood stops it, and Cyclone perks. He raises his head and begins to chirp and cry out. Batman’s grip on the steering wheel tightens when something rises up from the clouds beneath either side of the plane.

“Damn,” Red Robin swears.

The dragons are three times the size of Cyclone. One is a simple bright orange wyvern, the other a purple dragon with darker purple markings. Cyclone begins to squirm, and Nightwing makes sure everyone is securely buckled in before unwrapping Cyclone who’s pressed himself against the glass while the dragons continue to fly alongside the plane. Cyclone starts to scratch.

“Here we go,” Nightwing warns before pressing the button to open up the cockpit.

Cyclone gets sucked out, lands on the orange dragon, and then starts to shift.

He’s a mix of everything he’s ever touched, up to an including Bruce who had turned out to be a sleek black dragon with four legs, bat wings, and yellow markings, and Alfred, a slim silver and black wyvern with teeth like daggers. He’s missing patches of scales, his eyes and remaining scales are lackluster, but there’s a wiggle to his body that suggests he’ll be okay. He’s clinging to the orange dragon’s back but turns his head to look at the plane. The cockpit has already closed.

“Be good!” Nightwing shouts as he bangs on the glass. “What, I know you’re all attached to him.”

“It’s not like he can hear us,” Robin grumbles, but there’s and edge to his voice that suggests he wishes it weren’t true.

Cyclone lets go and it takes a few minutes for him to right himself. He plasters himself over the top of the Batplane, coos loud enough to vibrate the glass, and then chases after his parents. The purple dragon spares one backwards glance and slight nod of their head.


End file.
